


The Youngest Daughter

by captainguyliner



Category: Anastasia (1997), Anastasia - Fandom, Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Amnesia, Angst, Broadway, Eventual Romance, F/M, Friendship, Historical Accuracy, Humor, Retelling, Sad, Sexual Tension, Teasing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-04-18 19:41:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14220354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainguyliner/pseuds/captainguyliner
Summary: Dancing bears, painted wings, things I almost remember and a song someone sings, once upon a December.It's 1906 in St.Petersburg, the world is alive and the Grand Duchess is only 5, a shared look between her grandmother, a knowing smile, a cry of longing and a music box, their little secret. She's leaving for Paris without Anastasia.It's 1917, Anastasia is 16, adored by everyone, the youngest of the Tsar's daughters and she is the picture of beauty. That is until the Bolsheviks attack the palace and the royals are taken to Ipatiev house in Yekaterinburg. They are never seen again.It's 1918, the Romanov family are woken during the night and told to dress,  they are being moved to a safer location. They walk down to the cellar of the Ipatiev house, awaiting the arrival of their transport. It never came. They were executed right there in the cellar, no Romanov was left alive.It's 1927, and there's a rumour in St. Petersburg. Although the Tsar did not survive, one daughter may be still alive, the Princess Anastasia, but please do not repeat.





	1. The last dance of the Romanovs

**Author's Note:**

> This is the companion novel to the 2017 Broadway musical, giving insights into the story, and telling a much darker, historical twist to the enchanting tale. This may include references and implications to the 1997 original movie

-1906-

Snow falls gently outside the huge ornate windows, this would be one of her fondest memories. She yearns to run out in the brisk night air, embracing the cold seeping into her bones as the fresh snow falls on her face. She can taste it on her tongue, feel in tickle her nose and eyelids. The door opens and Anastasia turns to face her grandmother, a smile brightening up her childish face. 

"Nana!" The dowager empress returns the smile just as brightly. Her wrinkled features never bore the wear and tear of old age, with her favourite grandchild next to her, she always felt light and full of air, invigorated with the youth of her granddaughter. She situated herself on the bed next to the child, hiding her gift under her pillow carefully, patting it to make sure it stayed put. 

"Hello, my dearest Anastasia" Anastasia, the grand duchess, only 5 years old, yet she retained such grace and beauty, and fire. She wrapped her small arms around her grandmother's much larger frame, she relished in the feeling, she would miss her the most, a tear sprang to her cheek but she quickly wiped it away. She would see her again. "I'm afraid dear, that I'm leaving for Paris tomorrow" A gasp was audible from the small child as she retracted her hands and stared feebly at her elder. The Empress would never cease to be amazed by the striking blue of her granddaughter's eyes, all of her grandchildren owned the Romanov blue eyes, but Anastasia's seemed to shine the brightest, they changed constantly between a deep sapphire and a light crystal blue of the ocean she was born near. 

"Why must you go, Nana?" She wanted to cry, those dazzling eyes almost tearing up, she had that effect on people, young Anastasia. She could get anything her heart desired, and she knew it. 

"I'm afraid it's time to go. I've stayed too long dear" She nodded solemnly, not quite meeting her eyes. Anastasia's soft and delicate hands reached for her worn leathery hands, grasping hold of them as tightly as she could 

"Take me to Paris with you" Anastasia looked smitten with the idea of adventuring off with her grandmother and abandoning her royal duties. It sounded practically Anastasia. She chuckled. 

"You can come visit me with your sisters and little brother." Her eyes still remained bright with the prospect of visiting such a beautiful city and her doting grandmother. "There's a bridge there named for your Grandfather, did you know that?" Little Anastasia shook her head almost violently, her blue ribbon almost flying off her small head. She'd miss her collection of blue ribbons and bows, she hoped to always see her in the colour blue, it suited her. "The Pont Alexandre" Anastasia, understood the French word, her lessons had begun a year ago, and she studied meticulously, she loved the language. The Empress looked off wistfully, still clutching tightly to her granddaughter. "He never saw it" A smile flashed across her weather face, showing the youthful vigour she had 

"I know, we'll walk on it together! And we'll go to the ballet every night!" Anastasia giggled her dazzling eyes full of longing, and beauty as she stared at her grandmother almost pleadingly 

"Take me with you now" She clutched Anastasia's hands tighter, bringing them close to her chest 

"I already have my darling, Anastasia. Wherever I go you'll always be with me" The child smiled up at her and she added as if an afterthought "You're my favourite" Anastasia laughed and kissed her grandmother sweetly "Strong, not afraid of anything" Anastasia beamed up at her, inching closer to her beloved grandmother before chiming in  
"Like you" She grinned and hushed her favourite grandchild, pulling the secretly hidden gift out 

"Our little secret" enclosed in The Empresses' worn hands was an intricate gold music box. Detailed beautifully with details of blue paint and glimmering pearls, she twisted the key, hidden discreetly at the bottom, where no one but Anastasia and her grandmother could find it, she moved her hand to pop open the lid, to reveal the inside of the lid. A delicately painted swan, it's wings spread, embracing a rich sunrise. Two figures spun around in an embrace to a familiar tone. Anastasia gasped, her crystal eyes bright with wonder 

"Our lullaby" She stared at her grandmother, it's tune enveloping her in its grandeur. "When you play it, think of an old woman who loves you very much"

On the wind, cross the sea, hear this song and remember; soon you'll be home with me, Once Upon a December

The doorknob to Anastasia's room wriggled slightly, signalling that someone was attempting to enter. The Empress closed the music box and pressed it into her hands, Anastasia hid it behind her nightgown, being careful not to ruin it as her mother, the Tsarina entered her room. 

"Have you said your prayers my precious Anastasia?" Anastasia smiled sweetly at her mother, all charm and dazzling teeth. 

"Yes, mama!" She nodded vigorously, her ribbon flying again as if it was an entity of its own. 

"For your father the Tsar? For your sisters and brother? For Russia herself? Alexandra Feodorovna stood elegant and regal as ever, a glittering vision in her white ball gown, diamonds and jewels sewn into the fabric when she twirled through the ballroom the light would catch the jewels perfectly, reflecting off the dress. 

"Yes mama" Anastasia nodded again, looking down at the stark white of her nightgown, which would never compare to the glittering radiance of her mother's gown. Alexandra's regal stare raked over her daughter's nightgown, her stare catching a glimpse of something gold. 

She approached her daughter carefully "What's this?" Anastasia had moved the music box into her hands now, cradling it carefully, as if it were a newborn chicken pressed carefully in her hands. It was the Dowager Empress who replied, turning a little stonily towards her daughter-in-law 

"It's a music box, so the child will remember me" Anastasia pressed closer to her grandmother now, the music box between them as her mothers regal stare weighed down upon her 

"Better prayers than music boxes in these troubling times." Anastasia didn't want to give up the music box, but her mother's gaze was weighing down hard, a weight in which little Anastasia could not bare. Heavy footsteps could be heard on the tiles of Anastasia's bedroom as her father approached entering with a grand smile. 

"It's the last ball of the winter season, Mama. All Petersburg will be there" His voice was pleading, almost as pleading as his youngest daughters. The Empress rose from her spot on Anastasia's bed  
"We've been through this" She waved a hand dismissively, taking a measured step away from the bed. 

"She's right Nikki" Her mother spoke as if her sentence had already been rehearsed. 

Her grandmother reached down to hug her tightly, she smelled strongly of orange blossoms, a scent she would cherish, that she wished would linger in her room forever and ever, but that was impossible. The Empress pulled away, holding Anastasia's small hands in hers, looking deeply into her innocent eyes, naive eyes, blind to the true horrors of this world  
"Remember, Anastasia, Paris" She kissed Anastasia's head, the last time she'd ever see her precious granddaughter, she pulled away with a sad smile before exiting the room. Anastasia noted the cool press of metal in her hand and she opened her fist to notice that her nana had hidden the key there for her to wear. Frost framed the ornate windows as she fled the room, it was too painful for her, she did not know how long it would take for Anastasia to visit her in Paris, but she would surely count down the days. 

"Nana!" Anastasia was sobbing now, he heart strained again "Nana!" She had jumped off the bed this time, ready to chase after her grandmother and cling to her until they were safely in Paris. Her father caught her mid-lunge, effortlessly sweeping her up onto her bed, bowing elegantly before her. 

"The Tsar requests the first dance of the winter season" Her father outstretched a hand for her and she took it as she'd been taught to do. Anastasia was far too young to be attending balls, but her father was enraptured by his youngest daughter's charm and beauty, he could never deny her the first dance of the evening. This would be one of Anastasia's happiest memories. A music box, frosted windows, a glittering ballgown, and her father twirling her around her room in a nightgown.

-1917-

It had been her first and only ball she'd ever attended, her dress hadn't been as nearly dazzling as her mother's with it's shining jewels catching the light, but she adored her dress made of fabrics of pale pinks and lavenders. She, of course, was wearing her signature blue bow, ever since her grandmother told her much she loved them, she'd resorted to wearing one every day. 

Some Russian noble was spinning her around the room, she was rather gleefully laughing, all of her older sisters looked regal and composed, whereas she looked carefree and young. She supposed that all of her sisters felt like this at their first ball, but then again none of them were as reckless and mischievous as her, but she didn't really care, her dance partner passed her into another man's hands and she yelped with glee as he spun her around. 

She could do this forever, the champagne she had snuck a sip of was fizzling quietly in her blood, everything seemed positively alive, the thin snow that covered the grass was shining silver in the bright moonlight, making their garden look like a silver lake, she longed to run out there and bask in its glory, swim in it's silver glow. 

She was dancing on clouds, high above everyone else, she was free finally free, she wondered if this is what it would be like in Paris with her grandmother, she was almost old enough to visit, she wondered if she'd be dancing through the streets at night, stealing sips of champagne and eating buttery pastries as she crossed her grandfather's bridge. 

She felt warm and happy and a little dizzy from all the spinning. She had stopped at some point and was now trying to recollect herself for the family portraits, she had clustered herself on the floor, at the foot of her mother's lavish gown, and right next to her younger brother. 

Shoulders back, regal bearing. She could almost hear her mother chastising her as she prepared herself for the portrait, smiling radiantly for all of Russia. Flash.

She repositioned herself for another photo now, remembering to arch her back this time and pull her chin up slightly. 

Flash. Flash. Flash. They moved to take a few standing portraits, allowing the nobility to squeeze into the photo. Hands clasped in front, legs together, eyes at the camera, smiling brightly, chin up, teeth showing, eyes wide, back arched. 

Flash. Flash. Flash. Flash. Crash.

A noise from outside the gates startled them. Crash. 

There it was again, now closer. Crash. 

The crashing noise was surrounding them, coming from all sides, her family huddled around her, the nobility huddled around her family, the room began to spin as if on its own accord. 

She didn't remember moving her legs, but somehow she was being moved by the crowd of people around her, soon the nobility broke away to protect the doors. Crash. Bang. 

It was now snowing outside, it looked as if it were going to rain, her sisters broke away and rushed for the exit, her father had picked up Alexei and was carrying his frail body in his large hands, her mother's cold hand clasped onto hers and tugged her with them. 

She was tugged with them, following mindlessly behind them, that's when it hit her, tucked away in the corner of her bedroom was her music box, she couldn't leave without it. Letting go of her mother's hand she dashed towards her bedroom, her beautiful gown flying wildly around her as she rushed away from the screams of her name, shoving the doors open roughly, doing as her mother had scolded her not to do many times before, she clutched the cold gold box in her hands and rushed down the slippery tiles back into the ballroom. 

She had ignored her parents cries and calls, but thankfully they weren't too far ahead. She could see them in the pale moonlight.

A strike of thunder frightened her, something hit her head. She fell. 

All she remembered was the snow falling and the sounds of soldiers entering the ballroom, and her sisters wailing and her parents calling her name. The music box was no longer clutched in her hand, it had rolled out of her limp hand and under a plump lounge in a corner of the ballroom, never to be seen again. This was Anastasia's first and only ball.

 

-1918-

It had been a year since the Bolshevik soldiers had raided their palace and placed them under house arrest, for the majority of the time her mother had spent countless hours secretly sewing jewels and gemstones, priceless diamonds, rubies, sapphires and emeralds into Anastasia and her sister's undergarments, secretly concealed and inconspicuous, and ready at a moments notice in case any of them were to escape. It was something to help them if they ever needed it. 

It wasn't until April that the Bolshevik soldiers had moved them to the Ipatiev House in Yekaterinburg. Anastasia had decided to wear the ballgown she had worn the night of the raid, she could still smell the perfume she was wearing that night. If none of this had happened she might have been wearing the gown right now, twirling around the ballroom in some count's arms, she might have been cuddled up in the library with a book to read, or listening to her music box. 

The music box which was lost to the world. When they had been under house arrest in the palace, she had scoured the place up and down but she had never found the music box, she'd wailed all night and day until her mother told her to grow up, and to stop moaning over a music box. When she escaped alive she could buy herself a new one.

She assumed the guards or soldiers had taken in and pawned it off, not realising the sentimental value it had, they could take her ballgown, take her slippers, take her jewels and take her crown, so long as they stayed away from her ribbons and music box, she didn't care. 

It was driving her crazy, being holed up in the Ipatiev House, but as long as she wasn't back at the palace, where so many ghosts of what could have been haunted her, she was okay. 

She begged the guards to let her out, just in the garden for a five-minute stroll, they can accompany her if they wanted to. 

They ignored her and she sulked off to her room, opening a window and sticking her head out to catch the cool summer breeze as it her face, she could smell the orange blossoms blooming, her heart strained in her chest and she struggled not to cry, she heard a shout and the sound of gunfire, a bullet hit the windowpane next to her, she heard the glass shatter and promptly shut the window, her heart beating erratically in her chest. She never opened the window again.

Her dog Toby had been allowed to stay with them, he'd been her only solace, he was the only one untouched by the severity of the situation, as long as he was with Anastasia, he was perfectly happy, he didn't care at all. 

Her sisters had found their own solaces, reading, drawing and sewing, her mother had tended to Alexei, whilst her father, who had always been the strong and regal yet warm Tsar, was now deflated, cold, and withered Nicholas. 

Anastasia was at her wit's end, she was torn between the life she deserved, a life of glittering balls, and royal jewels, and a life where she could escape and live in this new cold and hard Russia, where she could live peacefully and unrecognisable, without complaint. That was only a dream, a useless dream.

The night it happened, she had put on her ball gown again, it had been tattered and torn in places, and looked rattier than a gown that a Grand Duchess should be wearing, but it still smelled like champagne, her perfume and Toby. 

She had fallen asleep in the pink gown, with Toby clutched tightly to her. They were woken at 2 am, the soldiers and guards were told that they were being moved out of Yekaterinburg and someplace safer, the whole entire family was told to dress and rush down to the cellar, where they would be moved, one by one to a truck which would transport them to their new form of imprisonment. 

Anastasia did not change, if she was being moved, she decided to make a fuss. She would go really, reminding them of everything that the Bolshevik's despised. She was clutching Toby tightly to her chest, his heart beating erratically. Her entire family was crammed into the tiny, dimly lit cellar now, the only light was streaming in through a window, the moonlight their only guide in this hopeless world. "You'll be safe soon," The soldiers said, but they were pointing their guns at them. 

Anastasia looked down to console her puppy, he was the only solace she had "They're decent men," she stroked his fur, he calmed down only slightly "they won't harm us" another few strokes of his soft fur, she wasn't quite sure who she was calming down, Toby or her. 

A squad of men dressed in cleanly pressed uniforms, and precisely cut hair entered, carrying guns, but it was one man who stepped forward, his medallions and badges glinting in the pale moonlight, he removed a crisp letter from his pocket and read aloud, in a deeply chilling voice. 

"Nikolai Alexandrovich, in view of the fact that your relatives are continuing their attack on Soviet Russia, the Ural Executive Committee has decided to execute you." Her blood ran cold, her entire family was silent. Her father turned to face his family. 

"What?" He was stunned, he himself had taught Anastasia to never let the people of Russia, especially the enemy see you stunned, shocked or flustered, you must always remain regal and elegant. "What?" He repeated, his voice rising. Anastasia had never seen her father this distraught before, he always remained regal and elegant. The officer repeated again as the soldiers raised their weapons at them 

"Nikolai Alexandrovich, in view of the fact that your relatives are continuing their attack on Soviet Russia, the Ural Executive Committee has decided to execute you." She could hear her mother and sisters attempting to bless themselves, that was when the first shot was fired. 

The man who had read the letter had fired once, twice, thrice, the entire squad was shooting at her beloved, warm, adoring father. Bullets pierced his chest and he hit the ground with a thud, his cold lifeless body bleeding out on the cold concrete floor, soon the blood would lap at her feet. Anastasia choked back a sob, as they trained their guns back on the Tsar's family. 

Her mother was next, a carefully aimed bullet to the head, she watched in horror as her mother, cold, elegant and graceful, who was mid-prayer, had been shot down, her beautiful face marred forever. Her blood mingled with Nicholas's. Maria was next as she ran for the double doors, a bullet to the thigh knocked her to the ground, the diamonds and jewels had slowed her down, their weight bearing too much, she was left there on the cold ground to slowly bleed out. Her blood mingled with her parents'. 

The soldiers shot blindly, hitting and missing the rest of Anastasia's siblings, Toby had been hit and she'd ducked to the floor, cradling his limp body as he managed to whimper his last exclaim of pain. Anastasia did not cry as the room filled with smoke and the soldier's exited briefly, waiting for the smoke to clear. 

When it cleared she saw Tatiana clutching Alexei, in the far corner of the room, still very much alive, and Olga was making way for the exit. A bullet to the back and a pulverised skull made sure she'd never make it. Alexei and Tatiana were next, both shot at and speared with bayonets, the jewels sewn into their underclothes had offered some degree of protection, but not enough from the bayonets. 

Anastasia was the last one now, she was still huddled over Toby's lifeless body, she looked up now, into the eyes of her killer, he had the gun trained on her chest, she begged him "Finish it," Her eyes, a deep blue of the sapphires sewn into her clothes, at this point she didn't want them to protect her, she hoped that the bayonet would pierce her skin "So I can be with my parents, and sisters and brother. Finish it" 

Fire blazed in her eyes, no longer innocent and naive. The man pulled the trigger. She fell back hard hitting the ground. She hadn't expected death to feel like this, her chest burned, and she could feel a warm liquid pool in her dress, her eyes were transfixed on the cracked ceiling of the cellar. The soldier brought the butt of his gun down on her head. 

This is what death was like. It was peaceful, it was cold, she could practically hear the silence in the air. It was deafening, she could feel the cold breeze on her exposed skin. She could feel the blood pooling underneath her. 

She opened her eyes. She was still in the cellar, maybe it was all a nightmare, a garish nightmare caused by her cabin fever. 

She sat up, slowly, regretting it instantly, her stomach screamed in agony and her brain slammed against her skull. She let out a small scream, her family lay dead beside her, all of their blood mingling together, she sobbed and retched, for her mother, her father, for Olga, Maria, for Tatiana, Alexei and Toby, her precious Toby. It was a whisper, barely audible to anyone, but Anastasia was sure she heard it, her sister's brave voice, small and frail 

"Run Anastasia! Run!" And so she did. She ran as hard and fast as her body would allow, heart, beating fast as her feet thundered, bare against the snow. She ran through the snow, in the cold of the night, she put as much distance between the cellar and her as she could. She ran through a town, past a lake, through another town, through the dense forest, she didn't know where she was going, just as long as it was away from the cellar. 

The cold night air whipped at her as the snow ate through her ballgown. Maybe it had not been the wisest choice to wear a ballgown, but then again the jewels had saved her life. She pushed through, the hunger, the cold, the pain in her stomach, and her head, she was sure she twisted her ankle, but she ran. Her body and mind were screaming at her, screaming to stop, to go, to turn back, to die with her family, to scream for help, to seek revenge. Her heart thundered against her ribs with every thump of her feet against the damp snow.

She did not know how far she made it before she collapsed. The last of Anastasia's memories were of her running, it was close to dawn, she tripped, she was by the road, her ankle swelled, she was almost sure the bleeding had stopped, her head hit the ground hard. Her brain smacked against her skull, and that's when everything went black. Anastasia was gone.

She was found by the side of a road, there were tracks all around, it had recently snowed. It was cold and dark, and the wind blew harshly through the trees, the nurses carried an unconscious Anastasia to the hospital. Only one nurse knew her true identity, though the rest of them assumed she was a countess or a child of nobility. Though the kindest looking, rickety old nurse knew that this was the Grand duchess Anastasia, she, after all, was the midwife who birthed the child. 

The nurse did not know how the child had managed to run from Yekaterinburg to Perm in a night, but strong willed and determined Anastasia had managed. The nurse had stitched her up, and replenished her blood, and tended to her head wound. She would usher the princess into her new life, a life where she could thrive, away from her life as a royal, she would start anew.

Rain against a window, sheets upon a bed. Terrifying nurses whispering overhead. She had woken up. She knew nothing. Alone and terrified, she reeled from a nightmare, wishing to call out her parents names, only struggling to remember them. 

The kind nurse told her she had amnesia, she asked them if they knew what her name was, the nurse smiled sadly and told her no, but she gave her a name anyway. "Anya" she liked the way it sounded. The nurse handed her a hat, some appropriate clothes, a scratchy coat, and a satchel full of jewels. The nurse pulled Anya in closely, barely above a whisper she hissed "Don't tell a soul, till you know that you must! You have to make sure you find someone you trust!" Anya nodded and hid the satchel deep in the pocket of her coat. 

The kind nurse had offered her a job at the hospital until she was ready to leave, Anya took it gratefully, anything to earn money. She swept and attended to patients, she cooked and cleaned, anything to earn a ruble. But the hospital itself was too haunting for Anya to stay. Soon the ghosts of her past would begin to haunt her, the nameless and faceless ghosts taunting her became too painful for her. The nurse knew that, and after a few years of working she had to set her out on her own. 

"It's time dear, this place is haunted with the ghosts of your past, you must create a new life out there, and maybe then you'll remember" A ghost of a smile tugged at Anya's lips, the first genuine smile the nurse had seen in the three years she'd known Anya. She set her off with a rucksack, a few rubles and a map, she told her to head to Odessa, there would be plenty of jobs there. And so she did.

-1921-

Anya had travelled for a week, using backroads and sleeping in woods, she wished to conserve her money for Odessa, and resorted to stealing from farmer's wagons and plucking apples from trees. Anything to stop her from starving. She kept her hopes up throughput her time of washing dishes in Odessa, although at night when she slept, the nightmares would haunt her, teasing her with her past. 

Shadows call out to her, there's a light at the end of the hall, then her dreams fade away. And she faces reality, never letting her courage waver. Sometimes she dreams of a city beyond all compare, at first she couldn't put a place to a name, only seeing fragments, a beautiful river, a bridge by a square. Soon enough, she discerns her dreams. A gentle hand caressing her face and a voice whispers "I'll meet you right there, in Paris" And she knows with a burning passion that somehow the key to her heart lies in Paris. 

She's been working in Odessa for 5 years when she's finally earned enough money to travel where she needs. St.Petersburg is her only chance of getting to Paris, so she travels there.

 

-1926-

It takes her almost a year to reach St. Petersburg, she walked all the way across Russia, as no one would help her, no trains to travel to St. Petersburg, and no buses either, and no one was crazy enough to drive the poor amnesiac orphan to St.Petersburg. She traveled from Odessa to St.Petersburg on foot, working when she could just to earn enough to survive. On the harsh nights when she was left to sleep in the cold snow and her coat failed her, she could feel the weight of her jewels in the satchel and she would cling to them, knowing that the nurse told her to wait to use them. She was smart, and despite how cold, hungry and tired she was, she would never be desperate enough to sell those jewels.

-1927-

She is weary and her bones are tired, but she is here, and that's all that matters. She finds a job as a street sweeper before passing out under the nearest bridge. This is where she'll start. 

She hears the rumours, they're everywhere, she can't escape them, she almost feels sorry for the princess, her entire family dead, and the poor princess left all alone, a new anger burns in the pit of her stomach as she realised that the princess didn't know the hardships and struggles that Anya had to go through to just to get to St.Petersburg alive. At least the princess knew her family, Anya had no recollection of hers. 

Some nights she would lie against the cold stone floor and imagine what it would be like to be the princess, she imagined a pink ballgown, the scent of orange blossoms, and the fizzle of champagne.


	2. There's a rumour in St. Petersburg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> literally just the song Rumour In St. Petersbug, it's sorta boring but I'm setting stuff up, so hold on, it'll get exciting and heartfelt soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys, sorry for being M.I.A. Despite it being school holidays I'm actually doing more work in the holidays than I am at school, so I've taken a small break to reformat this story and write some more, this is a smaller chapter, but it's the start of the story, so I apologise if it seems boring and repetitive, but ya know, it has to be set up. And if you want to go back to the prologue I did rewrite the ending because it sucked and spellcheck stopped working halfway through. It was honestly just a hot mess. But I did take your criticism and advice and I reformatted my writing style, and I hope you enjoy. Remeber to leave kudos and comments.

-1927-  
-St. Petersburg-

The wind blows a chill that seeps right through his bones. Despite the amount of layers that the young man is wearing, he’ll never be able to escape the harsh winter of St.Petersburg. 

For as long as he can remember, the winters were always mystical, and the summers peaceful, that was until the execution of the Tsar and his family. The once glorious Petersburg was now a city of ash, snow, stone and uniforms. 

He crumpled up the flyer in his hands, his anger flaring like the strong flame of a fire. They can call it Leningrad, but it will always be Petersburg. He tossed the flyer to the ground, promptly stomping on it. New name, same empty stomachs. He sneered to himself, pulling his satchel tighter against him as he surged into the bustling streets of his city. 

Whispers wrapped around the entire courtyard where many of the townspeople were huddled, looking for any food scraps, or clothing articles they could find. His blood boiled angrily, the only thing keeping him warm was his fury. 

A familiar old woman stopped by to pat him gently on the shoulder, her eyes full of sorrow. She’d just been spoken to by a Bolshevik soldier, he knew the telltale signs of a suspect, she was shaking slightly, and wore a ghostly look. She knew her time was about to come to an end. 

His fury rose higher and he grit his teeth and told her “They tell us times are better! Well I say they’re not” The frail old woman tried to hush the young man as he grew louder, the crowd turning to listen to him, as if he were preaching God’s prayer. “Can’t cook an empty promise in an empty pot” The crowd began to cheer. The man grinned venomously, the crowd had surrounded him now, he felt as powerful as the Bolshevik soldiers who reigned down upon them a horrible wrath. “A brighter day is dawning! It’s almost at hand” He mocked the soldiers he’d seen ‘inspire’ the people of Leningrad before.

He had the crowd in the palm of his hand now, gasping at his every word. “The skies are grey, the walls have ears and he who argues disappears” He grinned as he mimicked someone slitting a person's throat before raising his hands like a proud conductor, leading the orchestra into a blissful symphony, instead of leading an angry mob into a hate chant. 

"Hail our brave new land"

The entire courtyard full of poor Russian folk had joined in to mock sing their new anthem. The young man felt hysteria bubbling deep in his gut, slowly rising up and out of his mouth in a laugh. He stopped dead in his tracks, dread now replacing the hysteria in his gut. A Bolshevik soldier had joined the crowd and was eyeing him rather suspiciously as he slowly pushed and shoved through the crowd, making his way towards him.

He ran. The young man ran as hard and as fast as he could, his feet pounding hard against the rough pavement beneath him. He rounded a few corners, ducked in and out of alley ways. This was no different for him, being a conman meant he was always on the run. He knew this city like the back of his hand and knew the perfect escape route. He took a sharp right and managed to climb up the discreet ladder placed against the stone archway, hoisting the ladder up after himself. He ducked behind the archway's stone wall, laying flat against it, waiting for any sound of the Bolshevik soldier. His heart pounded against his ribcage as he waited for the telltale sound of feet against sone. 

He heard the soldier pass underneath the archway, slowing his pace as he had lost his target. The young conman heaved a sigh of relief and hopped up, fixing his satchel before striding along the archway towards his safe haven. He knew he'd find his good friend and partner in crime at the black market. He ducked back into a crowded street, hoping that if the Bolshevik soldier happened to be close by, he'd blend perfectly well into the crowd. It's not as if his threadbare coat stood out in a crowd of rags and worn down clothing. He hated this new order, and how everyone is equal He hated it, at least when the Romanov's were alive, there was a glimmer of hope, now no happiness survives the regime of Soviet Russia.

The young conman could hear the whispers all around him, he didn't care much for rumours, not wishing to partake in the custom of gossiping to pass the time, but this rumour seemed to pique his interest. "Have you heard? There's a rumour in St. Petersburg?" he heard an old woman ask presumably her husband. He ducked by them almost bumping into a robust man gossiping with a sickly woman covered in the dirt and grime from the street. 

"Have you heard what they're saying on the street?" he muttered an apology before rushing further through the crowd, hoping that he was free of the Bolshevik soldier. 

A young woman this time was whispering to her friend "Although the Tsar did not survive one daughter may be still alive" 

"The Princess Anastasia?" the friend gasped as the young woman nodded in reply before hushing her.

"But please do not repeat!" He hated all of these silly rumours, he knew very well the tale of the Romanovs and their execution, it wasn't possible for anyone to have survived such a terrible massacre. It was a fantasy that the people of St. Petersburg told to distract them from their harsh reality, he would take no part in it. He after all did not need fantasies to keep him entertained.

That's when he spotted a cleanly pressed uniform. Shit. Fuck. He cursed before ducking in the crowd, pretending to tie his shoe. The Bolshevik soldier was far too close for his liking, and could easily discern his features, He hissed and muttered a few more curses under his breath before a whisper piqued his interest.   
"They say her royal grandmama will pay a royal sum to someone who can bring the princess back" he raised his head, now this he was interested in in. Money, was something that was not plentiful in Russia, and he and his fellow conmen were desperate for it, and an escape plan. This seemed like their ticket out of Russia. He jumped up, forgetting the Bolshevik soldier and rushed as quickly as he could to the black market. His home away from his equally illegal home.

He bolted through the familiar alleyways and weaved in and out of shops and market places. He didn't slow down until he reached a plush velvet curtain, hung out of adjacent windows, obscuring the view of the black market. He pushed it aside, and was met with the familiar ramblings and whisperings of the sellers and beggars. A plush fur hat hitting his back harshly startled him out of his stupor. 

He turned to find his partner in crime, an older gentleman, maybe in his fifties, a little robust in a worn waist coat and threadbare coat. His spectacles gave his gritty, bearded face a soft look as he sneered at his younger friend. "Dmitry! They've closed another border. We should've gotten out of Russia while we still could!"

Vlad, of course was as eager to leave Russia as his younger friend Dmitry. He had been in front of a Bolshevik firing squad when Dmitry had saved him, almost getting killed in the process. A brash act of kindness, completely out of character for him, of course when you're eighteen you're young and you think you can save the world. But that was ten years ago, and Vlad and Dmitry have been partners ever since. 

Dmitry having been a street rat, already knew a thing or two about conning and tricking people. But Count Vladimir Popov, a common man who had tricked countless members of the imperial court into thinking he was just like them had a lot to teach the scruffy young boy about the finer cons.

Both men together were wanted by most of the Bolsheviks, both conmen, one an anarchist's son, and the other an ex count. They both had perfectly good reasons to be hated by the red Russians, and they both had a good reason to pull off this far fetched con, it would certainly grant them escape from Russia, and wealth beyond their imagination.

"Vlad! I've been thinking about the Princess Anastasia" The older man looked at Dmitry, only twenty eight yet he had sky rocketed in height, almost taller than him, he was skinny and gritty from his years on the street, but he knew far better than anyone else that he could hold himself in a fight. Over the years he had seen this young boy grow into a young man, he filled out his coat, his muscles grew taught and his cheekbones more prominent, his face was would be handsome if it weren't covered in soot and grime. He didn't deserve this life, he deserved a normal childhood, filled with loving parents, toys, clothing and money.

He believed that his young friend, who was like a son to him, had gone completely mad. He knew better than to listen to those silly rumours. "Oh, not you too, Dmitry!" The young man looked at him, a spark in his chocolate eye.

"It's the rumour, the legend, the mystery. It's the Princess Anastasia who will help us flee Russia, Vlad! You and I, friend, will go down in history" Vlad looked intrigued, his young friend may be on to something. "The Dowager Empress is looking for her granddaughter, and will happily pay a handsome reward for her safe return" Vlad perked up, seeing where Dmitry was going with his plan. 

"We'll find a girl to play the part and teach her what to say, we'll dress her up and take her to Paris" Vlad was chuckling as he slung an arm around his ingenious partner. 

"Imagine the reward her dear old grandmama would pay" Both men were chuckling as Vlad guided Dmitry deeper into the throes of the market. 

 

"Who else could pull it off but you and me?" Walking the narrow paths between market stalls felt like walking down a pit of eels, each seller clawing at your arms, begging you to look at their items, complimenting you, telling you stories of the past. It was ridiculous, these serpents trying to lure you into their stalls so they can sell you fake jewellery which they'll overcharge you for. Dmitry hoped that he would never have to visit the black market again. 

"A ruble for this painting It's Romanov, I swear!" He swatted away at a desperate man attempting to block their path a giant oil painting. Now it was Vlad's turn to duck as an overzealous woman almost threw a pair of stained pyjamas his way.

"Count Yusupov's pyjamas, comrade Buy the pair!" he scoffed and attempted to push his way further through the mad rush off the market,he needed to keep a clear head and keen eye if they were going to find something genuine. 

"I found this in a palace,it's initialed with an A. It could be Anastasia's! Now what will someone pay?" Dmitry halted to a stop, eyeing what the man had for sale before turning to his partner.

"We need something of hers to show the old lady." Dmitry surveyed the small cluster of stalls in the centre of the market, these few seemed to have a few more genuine objects than the rest. 

"There's more to being the Princess Anastasia than wearing a tiara Dmitry" Vlad was sorting through glittering jewels that had apparently belonged to the daughters of the Tsar, nothing that caught his eye yet.

"Not much. Look how many people you fooled" Vlad laughed gruffly, the boy did have a point, it was rather too easy for Vlad to fool the royals into thinking he was one of them. He miss hobnobbing with the royals, he missed his voluptuous Lily and the splendorous balls that came with her. He remembered the last ball he ever went to was the first ball of the winter season, he was only young then, it was Lily's last ball before she left for Paris with the Dowager Empress. He could still smell the champagne and her perfume.

"How much is that music box?" Dmitry pulled him out of his reverie. He was hovering at a nearby stall, holding a gold music box, lined with pearls and green detailing. It looked rather expensive.

"Ah, the music box! It's genuine Romanov, I could never part with it!" The slick salesman was doing his usual spiel, trying to drive a hard bargain and bleed them dry. Vlad preferred that they walk away, but Dmitry seemed determined to have that music box.

"Two cans of beans, comrade?" Dmitry reached into his satchel and pulled out what he'd managed to steal for supper tomorrow. Vlad's stomach growled as the seller contemplated momentarily before throwing the music box at Dmitry. 

"Done!" the beans were traded off and the two men left the market, inspecting their possession. They weaved in and out of dark alleyways as he pocketed the music box for safekeeping as they were nearing a busy courtyard. 

"Do you realise what this means Vlad?" he shook hi head in reply "We're going to create a fairytale the whole world will believe" Vlad rolled his eyes and Dmitry elbowed his robust stomach, he turned to face the younger man who had turned serious now, but that wistful, youthful spark still remained in his eyes.

"Now it's risky, but not more than usual, we'll need papers, we'll need tickets, we'll need nerves of steel" They parted briefly to make way for a woman carrying a large basket before meeting up again and letting themselves be swallowed by the crowd, their whispers mingling with the crowds. 

"Yes, it's risky, a lot more than usual!" Vlad wanted to strike him over the head, what was he thinking, this was madness, they'd never make it out alive, especially with a random stranger thrown into the mix. They wouldn't make it anywhere near the border without alerting the Bolsheviks.

Dmitry continued rattling off his crazy plan, Vlad reminding him that they'd likely be shot for treason against Red Russia. Honestly, he sometimes wondered if under that pretty head of his he actually had a brain. But by the end of his spiel, his charm had finally won the older man over. "Who else could pull it off but me and you?" They were on the homestretch now, clear of the crowds and they were a short walk away from the old Usepov palace, he could smell the dust from here. "We'll be rich, and we'll be out" Vlad opened the door and ushered Dmitry inside "And St. Petersburg will have some more to talk about"

A slow grin formed across Vlad's face "C'mon Vlad, you taught yourself how to be a royal, you can surely teach a young girl. We just have to find one that looks like her, and is willing to lie for money" He chuckled gruffly.

"So any young girl will do?" Dmitry chuckled and shook his head, he was almost pleading with the older man.

"It'll be the biggest con in history" Vlad was won over. He still hd his own fantasies to entertain himself when times were tougher than usual, and he would do anything to reclaim the fame and glory he once had. They were somehow going to pull off this insane con.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also, my Tumblr is paintyxuwings if you wanna see me reblog some Anastasia stuff, some Broadway stuff, some Derek Klenam some All Time Low and some general stuff. Also I like to rant about stuff on there so if you wanna hit me up just message me or send me stuff in my ask box and I'll answer you, or send me prompts or headcanons you want me to write and I'll do them for you on Tumblr, and I might then put them on here if I think they're good enough.
> 
> Tumblr: paintyxuwings


	3. Shadows Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys, long time no see huh. I'm sorry, life has been crazy busy with school, and this is a short break because I'm actually off school because I'm sick. I'm hoping to maybe get a new one shot out in the next week, but after that life's going to get real busy again because trials start, and then I have my majors due, my birthday and my performances and then I graduate and then exams start. So I probably won't be posting again until after I graduate and exam season which is October and November, so hopefully this extremely long chapter will keep you satisfied until then.

The Great War had impacted Russia greatly, the Revolution even more. Anya guessed it had impacted her greatly, with the sorrowful looks from the nurses and the fragments of memories which she attempted to piece together her past. 

She assumed, just like the nurses did, that her parents were of nobility, a count and countess probably, and due to the revolution they had been executed, and she narrowly escaped their grave fate with glass shards of her past. She pulled her coat tighter around her, she couldn't pity herself any longer, the Great War and the Revolution affected all of Russia, some children didn't even make it out alive. She should count herself lucky.

Paris. It's a small whisper that tugs painfully at her heartstrings and reminds her to keep walking down the darkened alleyway and towards the dilapidated palace. It's her only hope of figuring out her past after all. Her feet trudged, determined down the cobblestone alley way, faster and faster, almost running now. Heart beating fast in her chest she was rushing towards her past and her future.

She almost met the cold cobblestone as she was knocked back by a group of girls walking in the opposite direction. She tripped back, almost landing sprawled across the road, but she quickly regained her balance and brushed herself off, slowly meeting the eyes of the girls she had bumped in to. It had been partly her fault of course, she was too caught up in her mind, but the three slender girls with ample bosoms could have parted their way for her. 

Just quickly glancing over the red head, whose sneer could scare off the toughest of street thugs, and the superiority just rolling off of the raven haired girl, reminded Anya that this was their territory, and she should have been paying more attention. "I'm so sorry" she ducked her head and offered a weak, curtsey of sorts, which allowed her to easily manoeuvre around them and continue to hurry off in her desired direction. 

She heard the lingering conversations attempt to chip away at her armour as she rushed towards the boarded up doors. Where once stood a magnificent palace with intricately carved ornamental doors, now stood dilapidated, decaying doors which had been marred by pieces of wooden board being nailed across it upon it's raid. 

"Ugh isn't that Anya that little orphan street sweeper?" She was preparing to tear away the loose piece of timber so she could duck through the entrance. The girls chatter could be heard faintly, and made Anya pause before entering. "She's about as much of a Romanov as I am! As if she'll get it" Anya felt a shiver travel down her spine and she could feel silk brush against her skin and could smell the faint scent of orange blossoms.

Anya savoured the scent and brushed aside the girls remarks, she had no idea what they were talking about, and brushed her curiosity aside. The only way to survive on the streets was to take care of yourself first. Her fingers, quite numb from the cold still managed to easily pry the board loose, and she rubbed her hands together as it clattered to the floor rather noisily. 

She ducked and weaved her way through the remains of the door and easily managed her way through the darkened hallways and her feet guided her towards the familiar theatre. She stopped, caught aback as she stood on the stage. There was no spotlight lit, but she felt ass if one was placed upon her and she was standing here in front of a crowd, expected to perform without knowing what to do.

Her eyes raked over the theatre, taking in the surroundings, she reached out, as if to grasp onto something invisible when a moving shadow caught her attention and she jumped back. When two figures emerged from the darkness, one a haggard man who held himself with all the regalness of a young and dashing count, despite his rotund figure and haggard beard and clothes. 

And a young man, whose tall figure looked quite awkward, almost as if his limbs weren't sure of how to move as he slinked out of his hiding spot, the boy on the other hand, who was close to Anya's age, looked exactly like any other street rat, his clothes were threadbare, and soot covered his face. She would have regarded him quite handsome under other circumstances. She felt the chill of winter bite her as she stepped towards the men, who looked rather relieved to see her, and a little flustered too.

Suddenly remembering where she was she spoke "I'm looking for someone called Dmitry" the younger, lanky man stepped forward now, a little more comfortable in his environment. 

"I'm Dmitry," he pulled around a chair and shucked off his jacket, draping it almost angrily over it. "What do you want?" He may have mumbled it, but somehow he also miraculously managed to venomously spit the words at her. Anya ignored his tone and stepped towards him, she meant business. 

"I need exit papers," She watched as he waved her off and she inched closer, almost lunging at him now, desperately "And I was told that you're the only person who could help me" She was hoping that either her desperateness or her reliance on him would pull at his heart strings or his ego. She wanted, no needed those exit papers, without exit papers she could never travel to Paris.

Dmitry expertly sat down in the chair and smirked at her. "Exit papers are expensive" Anya was fuming, this selfish young man seemed persistent to ignore her pleads for help. She was determined and wouldn't let someone's horrible attitude ruin her progress, she was so close to figuring out her past, she could feel her memories slipping through her fingers.

"I've saved a little money" Anya shot back at him, never taking her eyes off of him as he continued to ooze swagger in his chair, she ached to slap the lazy smirk off of his face, but instead cooled her rage and composed herself. She knew the way of the street rat, you had to barter for the right price.

"The right papers cost a lot" He pointed a knowing finger at her in an exaggerated manner and she looked away silently, in an attempt to compose herself again. She took a deep breath and returned to face Dmitry, before dropping to her knees in a begging nature.

"I'm a hard worker you'll get your money!" Dmitry slowly turned his eyes to look at her, she had earned his attention as he watched her intently, she could see him figuring out whether she was worth the time and investment. 

"What do you do?" he asked it softly, he seemed to seriously be considering her now, Anya's heart swelled with pride before realising that her chances were crushed once he knew what she did for a living.

"I'm a street sweeper" she said it with as much pride as she could muster and watched as Dmitry laughed in her face, It looked as if he genuinely found her job amusing. 

"A street sweeper?" His laugh bellowed across the theatre and joined in with his partner's jolly laugh. He would have preferred if she were a whore, because at least he could earn more money from a whore, but she had more dignity than that. Anya mustered what was left of her dignity and attempted to gain his attention again, offering him something he couldn't refuse.

"In Odessa I washed dishes!" she was up off her knees now and for someone as small as her, was now towering over Dmitry. "And before that I worked at the hospital in Perm!" She was hoping that they'd be willing to take her service as payment, anything to get her to Paris.

"Perm?" She hadn't expected her previous home to be the statement that caught his attention. "You're a long way from here" She wasn't quite meeting his eyes as that familiar feeling was building up inside of her again, almost ready to spill out, she subdued it for the moment, allowing her time to chance another glance around the empty theatre as she almost whispered her reply.

"I know, I walked it" the theatre was silent as Anya soaked in her surroundings, the intricate marble windows, the ragged cloth draperies that were once plush red velvets. She could feel a memory resurfacing, almost as if it had been buried deep beneath the water and was slowly rising to the surface. She was reaching out for it now, ready to embrace it.

"You walked here, all the way from Perm?" Dmitry's reply sent the memory fleeting back into the depths of the ocean and Anya whirled to face him, almost angrily.

"I had no choice" she spat the words at him and in the sullen silence, she continued her inspection of the theatre. There was a small stain on the plush carpet, she was almost certain that it was from a small child spilling a flute of champagne, and she could hear a haunting melody play throughout the stage and she fought the urge to dance.

She was pulled from her reverie when Dmitry spoke "Who are you running from?" It was a question that was quite personal, but certainly not at the same time, it was some sort of unspoken question in the this day and age in Leningrad, someone was always running from something. Except Anya, she had nothing to run from.

"I'm running to someone!" She turned to face both Dmitry and his friend,who had inched closer towards her, but had still remained silent yet attentive through the entire ordeal. As an afterthought she decided that if she offered a small truth it may help them trust her. "I don't know who they are," she could see Dmitry losing interest in her case again and she raised her voice now desperate. "but they're waiting for me in Pairs!" 

Anya could see the sorrowful look on the old man's face and returned to look at Dmitry's amused face, she didn't know which enraged her more. Dmitry's expression changed and he gesture for her to come closer and listen in "You don't need papers!" 

Anya was taken aback, ever since she could remember the nurse had told her that if she wanted to visit Paris she would need papers. She was wary of what was to follow but listened to Dmitry despite. "There's a canal out there. Jump in and start swimming, you'll be in Paris before you know it!"

Dmitry and his friend returned to laughing at Anya and it took all of her composure not to beat the handsome out of Dmitry right then and there. Anya was about ready to turn on her heel and walk out, debating if there was still an angle she could work at in hopes of getting those papers."She's crazy!" Dmitry's exclamation turned Anya's blood into molten lava, boiling beneath her skin, she whipped around, emitting a scream that stilled even the ghosts in the Yusopov Palace. "I'm not crazy!"

She looked solemnly at Dmitry, he was clearly insulting her to cope with his own trauma, which didn't make his actions any better, but it did help Anya choose her next actions wisely. "Why are you so unkind?" She watched as Dmitry sat in silence, his head hung low in shame, his hat hiding his expression as the older man caught her attention. 

"We were hoping you'd be someone else" Anya turned to face the haggard man, who was lounging in a chair on the opposite side of the theatre, she walked to meet him, interested in how he suddenly decided to join the conversation. 

"Who?" she asked. Anya watched again, as the marble beneath her feet began to transform into it's once former glory, the world around her seemed to shift and transform into what it once was.

"Someone who may not even exist" The old man's words snapped the pieces of the puzzle together and Anya was sent reeling back, still half dazed from her new memory. She could see it now, the people greeting each other in finely dressed gowns, the heels clicking against hard marble, the music swelling and the fizzle of champagne.

"I've been in this room before!" it was a whisper, but it managed to echo throughout the empty theatre like a scream. She walked across the stage, surveying every individual seat in the audience whilst doing so "There was a play, everyone was beautifully dressed" she continued to walk, clutching a hand to her heart. Yes, this is it. You're so close to remembering!

"This was the private theatre in Count Yusopov's Palace" the old man provided Anya with the words that confirmed what Anya had suspected, she looked up watching the glass roof which used to reveal starry night skies, now revealing the grey gloom that forever surrounded Leningrad.

"Everyone was polite and kind" she closed her eyes and she felt as if she was really there. The music swelled louder, a familiar tune and she began to hum it.

"She's going to faint on us" she could hear hurried footsteps approach her and a strong arm tug her backwards.

"When did you eat last?" She paid attention to nothing but her memory. She could feel herself being lowered down into a chair but pushed upwards so she was standing again, eyes wide open to the gloom of the present.

"Afterwards we danced, there was champagne, I stole a sip!" she was placed back down in her chair again, hugging her arms tightly around herself and savouring the memory as if it were the warm hug of her mother she has yet to remember. The memory slowly slipped away from her, clinging to her like a dream instead of fresh and vibrant like it was when she was standing a few moments ago. She was content, just sitting there and clinging to the fizzle of champagne and humming the tune to herself.

"Where are your manners Dmitry get her some water!" the older man was gesturing adamantly at the kitchen just beyond the hallway which connected to the theatre. After the old man looked at Anya's small frame he added as an afterthought "And a piece of that cheese too"

Dmitry appeared before her towering just slightly taller than his friend. "This isn't a soup kitchen Vlad!" He sounded impeccably rude, well he had since the moment Anya arrived, but at least she now had a name to call the old man. Vlad and Dmitry seemed to be having a stare down as Vlad's arm remained raised almost threateningly in the direction of the kitchen until Dmitry stormed off in the direction.

Anya wanted to laugh, it was the first time she'd seen him concede all day. Anya leant in closely and waited until Dmitry was just barely out of ear shot before whispering "You seem to be a gentleman" Vlad lowered himself to her level as she wrapped her arms around herself to provide some warmth "Your friend is not" she spat out which only made him laugh such a jolly old man laugh it reminded her of sleigh bells and snow.

"Gentleman" he seemed to be tasting the word on his tongue, almost as if he were unfamiliar with it. "I haven't heard that word in a long time" he offered Anya a lopsided grin which she returned. Vlad looked down before meeting her eyes again. "Life hasn't been easy for my young friend" 

Vlad seemed to be kind, and clearly cared for Dmitry, but her blood was still boiling with rage for the arrogant lump of flesh so she couldn't quite sympathise with him yet. "Life hasn't been easy for anyone" She felt a cold glass being pressed into her hand and she slowly reached for it, only offering her gratitude after her assessment proclaimed that he had not poisoned it.

Vlad pulled Dmitry close to him and made sure Anya was preoccupied as he whispered "Don't be too quick about this one" Dmitry looked briefly at Anya, the small, crazy and argumentative girl who currently sat regally sipping his glass of water. He returned his gaze back to Vlad who seemed to be plotting away in that genius mind of his. 

"Have you gone crazy too?" he bellowed a bit louder than he should have. Vlad only motioned for him to watch and follow suit.

Vlad bowed extravagantly in front of the girl, which earned a chuckle from her as he introduced himself "What's your name dear?" her smile seemed to fade as deep blue eyes met his. 

"I don't know" Dmitry laughed, only to be swatted by Vlad as he inched closer towards the girl. 

"You don't know?" He asked incredulously, catching Dmitry's eyes as he was preparing to leave the room. 

The girl stuttered, meeting Vlad's eyes. "They gave me a name at the hospital, Anya. They told me I had amnesia, there was nothing they could do about it"

Both men stopped in their tracks, briefly meeting each other's eyes before returning to rest upon Anya, they slowly returned to their seats in either corner of the stage as they watched Anya intently, no sorrow or resent in their eyes, only curiosity. "Tell us!" Dmitry prompted, gesturing for her to tell her story. 

"What you do remember" Vlad added kindly as an afterthought, offering to fix his younger friend's rude mistake.

"They said I was found by the side of a road, there were tracks all around, it had snowed the night before." The harsh winds of winter seeped into the palace, and Dmitry and Vlad visibly shivered, but Anya paid no mind to the wind, too busy mustering up all her courage and every memory she had and every story the nurses had told her. 

She continued on. "It was dark and cold, with the wind in the trees. They found a girl in a ruined gown with a rolled ankle, wound to the stomach and head passed out in the snow" She subconsciously brushed her fingertips against her temple, where an angry gash once lay. "That night they brought in a girl with no name and no memories of her past" 

Anya was up out of her chair and pacing now "The first things I remember are rain against a window, sheets upon a bed. Then terrifying nurses whispering, and hovering, like a swarm of bees." Both Vlad and Dmitry, entirely enthralled by her story remained silent as she paced the space between them. "Call the child Anya! Give the child a hat!" she recalls the words spoken in the hospital as the nurses began examining her. "I don't know a thing a before that" 

It was Dmitry who spoke this time "And you worked at that hospital in Perm? The one you woke up in?" Anya nodded walking closer to him as she recalled her past.

"As soon as I was well enough I began earning my keep, and then when I was ready the head nurse sent me on my way for Petersburg" Dmitry silent once again prompted her to go on. "I travelled the back roads as to keep inconspicuous and rather than waste my money I slept in the woods" Vlad gasped slightly at Anya's confession, but rather than accept his pity she continued. "I survived by taking what I needed and working when I could"

"But why do you want to go to Paris? If you can't remember anything, than how do you know that there's someone waiting for you in Paris?" Anya rushed to meet Dmitry, ready to fight his worries with the tiny shards of her past that she clung to for dear life.

"Because, I have these fragments of memories, I can smell orange blossoms and I can feel the fizzle of champagne as it tickles my nose and my tongue. I can remember frosted windows, being twirled around a room." Her voice was rising now, her words becoming worried and erratic as excitement bubbled inside of her. "And I hear a voice whisper I'll meet you right there in Paris!" Anya had now untucked the beautiful necklace which she always wore, hidden under so many layers of clothing where no one could think to take it away from her.

Her heart was beating fast, her breathing deep and erratic and she realised now that both Vlad and Dmitry were looking at her as if she were crazy, she composed herself before quickly tucking away her necklace and sitting back in her chair. 

Anya let out a sigh before continuing. "You don't know what it's like, to not know who you are. To have lived in the shadows or travelled this far!" her eyes glazed over as she became lost in her mind once again "I've seen flashes of fire, heard the echoes of screams, but I still have this faith in the truth of these fragments of my past."

She had moved over to Dmitry now, pulled out of her reverie and now kneeling at his feet once again, pleading with him. "Isn't that enough for me to know, to know, deep down in my heart that there is someone waiting for me in Paris, and that hopefully by travelling there and meeting them, I'll remember everything?"

Both Vlad and Dmitry were silent, and Anya remained silent as well, she refused to look either in the eye as the silence hung deafeningly around them. Both Vlad and Dmitry locked eyes, Vlad grinned and Dmitry knew exactly what he was scheming, he just hope that they could pull it off. 

Dmitry raised himself out of his chair and offered a hand to pull Anya up as Vlad hurried out of his chair and towards the two, she ignored his hand and gracefully lifted herself off the ground as Vlad promptly met the two where they were standing "Maybe we can help you after all Anya," Her name sounded foreign on his tongue, but he seemed to like how it sounded, and so did she. "It so happens that we're going to Paris ourselves" Anya could feel Dmitry's gentle, yet firm hands on her shoulders as he and Vlad guided her into what she assumed was their office.

Anya was practically beaming as they walked down a dimly lit hallway and through to a small room where a random arrangement of broken and mismatched furniture were arranged in front of an oak desk, Vlad and Dmitry sat behind the oak desk and Anya sat opposite them, watching as they quietly bickered between them. Suddenly Vlad cleared his throat rather loudly and Dmitry's vanished, he quickly replaced it with a sickly sweet smile and the meeting began.

"So Anya, you're looking for your long lost family in Russia?" Dmitry asked, as if he hadn't just been listening to her recount all she remembered back in the theatre, she honestly didn't see why they had to move to a seperate location and why there had to be so much pomp and circumstance surrounding the papers, but she simply complied with their requests, she'd already come so far, it was silly to turn back now because Dmitry seemed like an incompetent fool with hearing problems.

"Yes" She stated matter of factly. Vlad and Dmitry shared a looked with each other as Vlad scrawled something down on a piece of paper on the table. Anya was curious as to what he was writing but her train of thought was interrupted when Dmitry started questioning her again.

"How old were you when the nurses found you?" She found it quite a personal and peculiar question, but they were probably regarding whether she was faking or telling the truth, nether the less she answered.

"I was seventeen" More talking from them both and more scrawling on the page.

"What month and what year were you found?" Anya was still confused as to why this mattered, but as long as it led to her acquiring those exit papers, he'd answer any question he threw at her.

"July of 1918" she felt no personal attachments to these dates, they were cold hard facts that had been presented to her when she woke up in the hospital, these weren't things she remembered, she was a blank slate, these were facts that she felt were programmed into her. More scribbling broke her out of her reverie.

"Were you found in Perm? Or brought to the hospital there?" She had to wrack her brain, all of her memories f the hospital were crystal clear, considering she had forgotten the first seventeen years of her life, she made sure that she remembered the rest of her life as accurately and as clearly as possible. 

"Uhhh. I think I was found somewhere near Perm, and that was the closest hospital, I never really thought to ask" more scribbling from Vlad, as Dmitry reached for a map of the country, he moved to trace a path from Perm to Yekaterinburg before nodding to Dmitry and continuing to scrawl on the paper.

Dmitry asked her to stand and he moved to stand with her, eyeing her up and down as Vlad continued to scrawl incredulously on the scratchy paper. "Why are you circling me. What were you a vulture in another life?" Anya's anger flared briefly, she was cold and hungry and tired, and Dmitry was toying with how desperate she was and if she wasn't getting those papers soon she was going to walk right out of that palace and never see those men again.

Dmitry chuckled as he turned to face Vlad "She kind of resembles her" Vlad approached Anya now with his sheet of paper, briefly reading from it and then retuning his gaze to Anya. "The same blue eyes" Dmitry offered.

"The Romanov eyes!" Vlad exclaimed excitedly, scribbling something again before circling Anya himself. "Nicholas' smile"

Dmitry squinted hard and titled Anya's chin upwards for better inspection, which earned a much needed swat to the stomach "Alexandra's chin" Anya's head was spinning, she had no idea what was happening, but she figured it might have something to do with what the three girls had said before.

Vlad gently held Anya's delicate hands in his stronger, leathered ones. "Oh look, she even has the grandmother's hands" Anya pried her hands away from Vlad and stuck them angrily on her hips as she scowled at the two vultures circling her. Suddenly she realised what was happening. She's about as much of a Romanov as I am!

"Are you trying to tell me you think that I am the Grand Duchess Anastasia Romanov?" The two men smiled at her as she glowered at both of them, despite the height advantage they had against her, she more than made up for it in pure rage.

"You're the same age, same physical type, and where the nurses found you was close to where the Romanov family were being held in Yekaterinburg. Those can't be coincidences Anya!" Anya was pushing her way out of the room and making her back to the theatre when Dmitry caught up with, blocking her exit out of the theatre and into the hallway. 

"I've seen thousands of girls all over the country." He hoped that the small lie that slipped his tongue would help sway her over to his side, and leave them both with what they want in the end. "Not one of them looks as much like the Grand Duchess as you."

Anya pushed past him just as Vlad came panting into the theatre "And you were calling me crazy! Who's crazy now?" Dmitry caught up with her again, blocking her exit as Vlad fell into place next to him with a charming smile that only disarmed Anya a little bit, she would never admit it but she had a bit of a soft spot for Vlad's jolliness and kindness towards her.

"You don't remember what happened to you. No one knows what happened to her. You're looking for family, in Paris. And her only family is in Paris. Have you ever thought about the possibility?" Anya allowed herself to be caught up in the fragments of her past, the smell of orange blossoms, the fizzle of champagne, a haunting tune, being twirled around a room. 

The nurses did find her in a ruined gown with expensive jewelry, they'd only assumed that she was a child of nobility, not that she could be a child of royalty. Her fantasy was shattered when reality hit her, she was a street sweeper who had no money to her name. "That I could be royalty? Well, it's kind of hard to think of yourself as a duchess when you're sleeping on a damp floor. But, sure, every lonely girl would hope she's a princess"

Anya did seem to recall quite vividly that she had been here in the Yusopov palace before, things didn't seem quite so strange anymore. "We could help you remember, remember your past, take you to Paris to meet you grandmother" Vlad was the one talking now, offering her whatever her heart desired "We could get all dressed up, do a little sightseeing, I was a count you know, back in the good old days"

Anya's head was spinning, she really did feel like she was beginning to faint "Do you really think I could be her?" She met Dmitry's brown eyes, there was a bright spark behind them and it seemed to ignite at her words.

"Yes, with some history lessons, eloquence lessons and some new clothes, you could be her" Anya's heart sank.

"What's in it for you?" Dmitry's smile faltered slightly, but he plastered it back on almost instantly as he stepped forward warily.

"If the Dowager Empress recognises you as the Grand Duchess Anastasia, Vlad and I will receive a small reward for our efforts. And we'll all live happily ever after" Anya glanced at him and he added as an afterthought. "Either way, it gets us out of Russia, and you to Paris"

Anya inched closer to Dmitry now "What if she calls me an imposter?" She could feel the electricity humming between them, both so alive with the possibility of their futures. 

"Than it's all just an honest mistake" Dmitry was hoping that Anya was as desperate as he was to get to Paris, because she had been quite stubborn up until now, but he felt that with one little push she'd agree, and they'd have their own Anastasia to train.

"But, if you are the princess, then you'll finally know who you are and have your family back" Those were the words that melted away at Anya's stubborn exterior, Vlad's charm and genius was what finally broke her, Dmitry would have to thank him later but for now he had to wait with bated breath for her answer.

"How do you become the person you've forgotten you ever were" Dmitry grinned as Vlad swooped in for the rescue ushering her into the hallway of the dilapidated palace "Like Dmitry said, we'll have Russian history, eloquence lessons, dance lessons..." the conversation trailed off as they continued down the hallway and probably into the kitchen to prepare dinner and discuss travel and sleeping arrangements. Dmitry couldn't help but feel ecstatic, they were absolutely going to pull off the greatest con in history, with a little help from an amnesiac orphan.


End file.
